


AFTER THE PING

by vanhunks



Series: "It's your move" [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Chakotay is it!, F/M, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 09:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13004601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: Janeway wants to get the better of Chakotay. So what happened after the ping?





	AFTER THE PING

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to "COMMAND PERFORMANCE", part of a short series "It's your move".  
> Much swearing by characters, so do be warned. Part of my series of vignettes with ratings Mature to Explicit.

* * *

After the ping

Companion piece to "Command Performance". 

* * *

"Why is it so dark in this corner of the mess hall? I can't see my food," Chakotay complains. To be fair, he is usually mostly flexible when it comes to our weekly dinners, always agreeing whatever locale I choose for our meal. Tonight, it's the mess hall, home of the _Leeola Root Surprise._

"Just imagine we're sitting in the restaurant of the _One and Only,_ home of fine dining."

He looks at his plate - Broggan peas, julienne carrots Neelix assured me was really carrots, Ta'larian broccoli and something that resembles a piece of steak. I call it fake steak. It's smothered with pepper sauce.

"Then again, it's best I don't see it," he mumbles as he starts eating, slicing through the fake steak with a d'g tagh. It amuses me what crewmen and officers carry hidden under their clothing. There's a perfectly serviceable steak knife on the table. He makes a  rather half-hearted attempt at appearing ravenously hungry. After the first bite he grasps the stem of his wine glass and takes a hefty gulp. Broggan peas and broccoli disappears down his throat. 

I give an inward smile. Neelix for once complied to my request for the colour on our plates.

"Don't worry, I'll tell Neelix anyway. It's only this corner of the mess hall, apparently."

"Apparently."

He's not satisfied with my response. Chakotay's looking good in his uniform - did he change into a fresh one? He smells of musk, fresh musk too, like he showered before dinner. I give an inward chuckle. With only a few late stragglers as company, we're practically isolated. I can even reach over the table and touch his cheek and not care who sees me. Soon some nameless ensign will probably rush out and the speediest scuttlebutt will have Janeway marrying Chakotay in a turbolift.

But, I am Janeway, and Janeways always have a plan.

"You know, Commander, I read a novel a few years ago - my BV (Before Voyager) years - by a French author."

He looks up, peas dangling precariously on his fork. One pops off and rolls off the plate onto the floor. It's Broggan peas, for heaven's sake. They're perfect little globules of rock. Chakotay is hardly aware of it heading towards to opposite bulkhead.  I laugh. We're in sync with many things.

"Paris pulling us to port," Chakotay says.

"Yeah."

"The novel?" Chakotay probes.

"Oh, yes. So this story is about a woman and a man in suspended animation, you know, like cryostasis - "

"I know what it means, Captain."

"Which scientists discovered deep under the ice in the Antarctic."

"Do I know where this is going, Captain?"

"Soon enough. Pay attention. Eat your food."

He manages to balance the julienne carrots on his fork, aiming very slowly for his mouth. Chew. Swallow. Swallow. Gulp.

"So what about the ice people?"

"Well, their civilization was far more advanced than the scientists of the novel's real world. By the way, after much debate they decided to thaw out the woman first. Anyway, there was this nifty little gadget they had. Yes," I tell him, trying remember what has become really just a very vague recollection, "a very nifty little visor, or was it a head band? No matter. It was something metallic."

"You hair looks nice tonight, Janeway," Chakotay says in a quite churlish tone. He's trying to distract me. I wonder why? I like my hair. It's the same style of the past our years. There's nothing new or nice about it. Sometimes the man infuriates me.

"What does my hair have to do with the headband of the Ice People?"

"Nothing, I guess," he says, taking a slow sip of his wine, rolling it on his tongue. The best red wine for Chakotay. I glance around. Seems we have attracted the attention of the stragglers hanging around for Neelix to take pity on them and make syrupy pancakes. Soon they too, will leave, two by two. I don't mind.

"Good."

I scuff off my boots, toe off my socks despite the lowered temperatures after Alpha shift. Then I wriggle my toes, flex and point my feet, limber up for what's to come.

"So what did they do with the head bands, Captain?" Chakotay asks, suddenly alert. Did he hear my under-the-table toe-scuffing?

Nah, he seems unaware of my activity beneath the table. Maybe it's my less than smooth story-telling legend-provoking account of ice people and head bands. Good thing I'm sitting with my back to the crew still languishing behind while he faces them, his back practically against the bulkhead.

"Once they slip on the head band and press a panel at its side, a white screen is activated."

Chakotay frowns. I'm enjoying this as I watch emotions flicker across his features. By now he is in danger of being unconscious and looking quite stupid. Then he tries to appear detached, but it's clearly not working. The frown of ignorance is back. He stares as I lift the fork to my mouth. Told Neelix to cover our veggies with a healthy dollop of gravy. It tastes…bearable. I wash it down with Cabernet Sauvignon.

I lift one foot slowly up under the table and hitches it between Chakotay's thighs, just a hint of a toehold on the seat edge, close enough to his crotch.

I eat my pea-bullets and carrot stalks and fake steak - the man's non-meat eating. During our weekly dinners he grazes while I love my occasional steak. I rouged my lips earlier that would have made Neelix proud, let my tongue rest under the thin tines of my fork. Slowly the utensil slips away leaving a lipstick-smudged green pea waiting to become enzyme fodder. I watch Chakotay closely at the same time. He is uncomfortable, shifting away from my bare foot that has crept further up the seat, brushing his thigh, strong muscle that instantly tenses at my touch. He is conflicted - awareness of my toe grazing his bulge or my red, sexy lips engaging in erotica with a pea.

"And then-then, what-what happens?" he stammers.

"It's an emotion band, see? On the screen, for all who witness, your emotions play out as colours which, depending on the intensity of the emotion - anger, sadness, laughter, joy, humour and any other prurient thoughts you have, also deepens the shades and they swirl around on the screen."

"W-what?"

"So if you're thinking about sex, like really, having sex with another, the colours are red and orange and all the shades between those two, including a bit of yellow. If it's really erotic, they swirl in a riot of reds and orange and all very, very bright, see?"

I cover his crotch, my whole foot like a hand squeezing his balls and I keep my foot there. I have a sudden image of a hand clutching a hand grenade. Chakotay sputters and chokes, a Broggan pea-bullet shooting inelegantly from his mouth, in a wide trajectory across two or three tables.

"Hey!" someone shouts as the offending pea lands in his soup. "Commander, are you okay?" the crewman asks when he realises from where the offending bullet originated. Ah, Ensign Mahoney who will impart the next bit of scuttlebutt through the ship. The Commander almost died by Janeway's hand, that sort of thing.

Actually, I would like to murder Chakotay, but squeezing his arousal is infinitely more beneficial. I press harder into him. Another sputter and a dark flush spreads across his face and neck.

"I'm fine, Mahoney," Chakotay croaks.

I squeeze tighter, curl my toes and pinch him.

"Don't you dare move, Commander."

"What-what the h-hell do you think you're doing?"

"Eat, Chakotay," I tell him, while my toes dance all over his bulge. His cock is shaping nicely under my ministration. I lean forward, glass in one hand, the other trapping his. "Spread your thighs," I whisper, injecting as much menace in my voice. "Do it…"   I feel how he complies, albeit very reluctantly. I raise my other foot and cover his entire bulge comfortably, supporting my heels against the edge of his seat.  Sitting back I watch him. I roll my feet over his bulge.

"Stress balls for your feet. Now there's a novel way to relax…"

"You are certifiably insane, Janeway," Chakotay hisses.

"That was a shitty thing to happen this afternoon on the bridge, Commander."

A light goes up in Chakotay's eyes. Finally, he's beginning to get it.

"What happened?"

"Are you dumb or something? The entire bridge witnessed my first officer rubbing his crotch while looking at the viewscreen. You should have seen your face. Looked like you were in the throes of an orgasm, shooting cum all over me. Did you not notice how the nebula turned all colours especially red and orange? Deep red and deep orange?"

He had the grace to blush. I show him no mercy. I rub the balls of my feet against him like I've got a bad elephant itch or something. Everyone could see he had sex on his mind. Well, not everyone...

"Paris wanted to know if you were masturbating. Tuvok made a note about mating behaviour. Harry was nonplussed and asked whether the nebula was churning coffee. Seven of Nine wondered whether you were dancing in the command chair, she's that naive."

"I apologise, Captain - "

"You embarrassed me, Commander, jerking off on the bridge like there was no tomorrow."

"I said - "

"Scuttlebutt right now? Chakotay fucked Janeway in the command chair."

Chakotay's face stains all kind of beetroot  red. He doesn't know where to hide, looking at me is his only option.

"It won't - "

"One move, Chakotay and I'll invite Mahoney over to see my below-the-table shenanigans. Now eat, while I'm busy," I whisper, leaning closer again so the others don't hear me.

His dick grows so hard it strains against his pants. I roll my feet over him, allowing the glorious feel to flow into my loins.

"Now, Chakotay, just like the head band story I told you, you embarrassed your captain. Your face was gone, see? You were dwelling in ecstasy. All kinds of red and orange on the viewscreen. I'll tell you what you fantasised about. You were thinking of how you can have sex with your captain, right?"

"I said it won't happen again - "

"Right?"

Chakotay clears his throat, follows it up with an imperceptible nod.

"All brave now, aren't you? I bet you ripped my uniform off my body. I bet you dug your nails in my oh, so soft skin, even burrowed up my willing pussy. I bet you scored long scratches down my thighs as you pulled my pants down. I bet my lips were bleeding the way you bit and clawed at me - "

"Captain…"

"Did you? Did you? Huh?"

I lean forward, then glance back in time to see Mahoney leave. Looks like we've given him enough of a floorshow. Now the moment I've been waiting for.

"One hand under the table, please, Commander. Pick up your fork and eat. That's and order."

"Fuck you, Janeway."

"Mahoney!"

Mahoney has long disappeared, but it won't hurt to call him back, just to keep Chakotay on the ball. My hand hovers over my commbadge while my feet do the walking… Finally his hand touches my left foot.

"Unzip your pants for me."

A salvo of Broggan peas fly across the mess hall as he sputters. Outrage or surprise or both, I don't care. I knead his bulge while he vacillates between acquiescing and objecting. The beetroot turns his face an even darker red that looks diabolic in the weakened illumination in this part of the mess hall.

"Do it," I order.

"Damn you, Captain…"

I think acquiescing wins out. Chakotay can't help himself. I'm playing out his fantasy for real. Damn embarrassing fantasy. Slowly he pulls down the zipper. I feel the vibrating movement under my toe and smirk,  

"Your cock seeks freedom and it wants me, Commander," I tell him as I work his offending boxers out of the way. Even without looking, his red hot poker jumps free from its constraints.

I curl my toes and pinch-knead the engorged bulge, hard as a rock. Damn! It feels so good. I grow wet between the legs, throbs deliciously, but I must control my own responses.

I lean forward, my raised fork filled with fake steak and julienne carrots.

"Open your mouth please, Commander. There, that will do. Now you can feed me too while I give you pleasure."

So I begin slowly pumping his penis, sometimes slow, slow, then with more vigour. He is disintegrating in front of me, but I feed him, act for all the world as if we're enjoying our meal.

"Kathryn, dammit! I'm going to - "

He rocks with the movement, a growl emitting from him, eyes beginning to bulge. I push rhythmically, faster and faster. Chakotay drools all over his plate, his mouth open, hoarse huffing breaking the sudden silence around us.

Then I press the fork between his teeth the instant Chakotay ejaculates.

"You fucking bitch!" he hisses the moment his breathing evens and the fork slips from his mouth.

<<<FADE TO BLACK>>>

******************

END

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reference of the novel _"La Nuit des temps"_ by Rene Barjavel, translated as "The Ice People". I read an Afrikaans translation, its title " _"Nag van die Tyd"_ much closer to the Fr. title. Details remain fuzzy because it's more than thirty years ago that I read the novel. 
> 
> *  
> I'm assuming male crew wore zippered pants in the 24th century Trek.


End file.
